Frustration of the Ages
by carry-on-my-wayward-oneshots
Summary: So after a few thousand years my demotion had become somewhat expected. I had been deemed unreliable and therefore unfit to deal directly in the affairs of the Heavenly Host. My brothers decided that I would be better suited to dealing in the affairs of man. Never had I imagined that my title would have been so literal. - Castiel is directed to find a soul mate for Dean.
1. The Affairs of Man

To say that I was good at my last job would have been a lie. And to say that I was proficient would have still amounted to an abomination in one sense of the term or another. I had always been something of a disappointment in the eyes of my brothers and sisters. I was the one who fell behind; the little brother that everyone looked out for.

I became one of the last angels to visit the Earth after its violent transformation. Too fearful to take my first steps out into the great world that our Father had made for us, it had been my older brother Gabriel who forced me out of the clouds. It was Gabriel who had been right beside me when the very first fish fell onto the shore. He had guided me from the very beginning of Creation and my admiration for him was second only to one. That was when our Father decided that the Earth was not complete as it was. That there was another destined to rival him for our affections. He breathed life into the dust and in doing so created humankind.

Mankind grew up alongside us as an adopted brother might. Loved as well as the others but more distantly. Various plans were laid out and unraveled in front of my brothers and sisters. Some very clearly destined to fail and some deserving of souls with more potential. Through their eyes we saw the second birth of the wheel and witnessed the failures of the old gods.

A few of the angels, very few it seemed, became so jealous of mankind that they resented our Father for loving them. They did not find happiness easily, even in the path that they had chosen for themselves. Heaven itself, in time, was threatened by the Hell that had been formed by their discontent. So the most duty-bound of all angels were granted the strength to strike back at their forsaken brothers. They became the most righteous warriors that Creation had seen. And they faced a great many foes. During a time that beasts that roamed the Earth, dark things that remained from the old Creation, our Father foresaw that mankind could not possibly defeat them alone. He chose several of my brothers to be as guardians of mankind. They were protectors, muses and, as time progressed, inspirational newspaper columnists for the masses.

I remained behind; too afraid to fight, too weak to protect and clearly too uncertain to strike out at those I had grown up alongside. It would have been kind to say that I was cautious, but centuries of hesitation made it clear that I was more fearful and cowardly than anything else. The other angels naturally became aware of this. As the millennia passed it seemed that no one in the garrison had the patience for me anymore. I imagine after a while that even Gabriel, one of the oldest of us all, had grown quite tired of holding my hand.

So after a few thousand years my demotion had become somewhat expected. I had been deemed unreliable and therefore unfit to deal directly in the affairs of the Heavenly Host. My brothers decided that I would be better suited to dealing in the affairs of man. Never had I imagined that my title would have been so literal. I fell from the glorious ranks of the garrison to that of the cherub.

My time as an observer allowed me to become something of a Godsend in every way. What had at first been a chore, I slowly found redemption in. I fixed those broken souls that had once been in love by guiding them back into each other arms. A broken heart was far too painful and stressing to the soul. It left scars that were quite visible to any angel or demon that came upon them. In some cases, these blemishes on the soul allowed a demon to take over easily; the possessions that followed the sinking of the _Titanic_ were, in and of themselves, a calamity. While so many had gone through their lives feeling empty and broken so many others found that death was preferable to falling out of love.

Finally I had found a duty that would not eat away at my conscience. Over the years I had delivered a great number of souls from rather unfortunate fates and I had become prideful. Too prideful, it became clear, in the eyes of my brothers. I must admit now that setting up Monica and Bill was not one of my best assignments. Though the fact that they had been happy, even for a short time, was something that I had marveled over.

How could fate choose for so many to suffer at my hands? I came to wonder. So in the smallest of ways I began to rebel, believing that happiness above all else was more important than the inspired suffering of the few. After several ill-matched souls, and the subsequent disasters that became of them, I was given an assignment that would decide my worth once and for all.

This was how I became aware of Dean Winchester.


	2. Time for an Intervention

When I first came across my charge I must admit that he was rather ordinary. Like many of the unmatched, he managed his day to day life without difficulties. Often he was content to speak and interact with his brother, Sam, and no other company. As time wore on, I saw him at his darkest moments. There were those solitary nights when his soul was devastated with loneliness and unpleasantly bitter to witness.

Through my decades on Earth, I noticed that humankind had a tendency to drown its bitterness in alcohol. It was a fact of their life cycle that I did not completely understand, but of which Dean Winchester seemed very well aware. I came to learn eventually that he had more of a reason to drink than most. Being well into his thirties, unmarried and unattached; it appeared that he had lost hope in finding meaningful attachment. It was a sad half-truth that many unhappy souls came to accept.

And at first glance, it was apparent that his loneliness was his own fault. Dean was, as a drunken floosy in North Dakota had put it, a guy that most women would die for. A comment which was somewhat ironic, he later told his brother, because in their line of work that's what usually happened. I would not appreciate this comment, or understand the term irony, until much later.

The two were hunters; a job which had fallen to them from their father. The duty which my own brothers and sisters abandoned had now become a burden for mankind itself to undertake. They, like so many others, had taken on a challenge the scope of which was beyond them. By pledging so much of their limited lifespan in the effort to save lives, it seemed that they would remain unhappy until the end of their days. Knowing their devotion and sense of duty, I could not allow them this fate.

I remained on mission, watching over him both day and night. It wasn't long before I realized that he was very different from the other humans I had been assigned to. He truly believed that he was broken and his soul was, in fact, irrevocably scarred and damaged beyond any I had seen. Though I persisted in my duties, my task was never an easy one.

Finding happiness for a soul like his was nearly an impossible feat. Many similar assignments had lasted years. Sometimes the search continued for decades; but eventually the soul found a match so strong that no force on Earth, apart from Death, had a chance of rendering them apart. It wasn't very often that there was a soul left unmatched. On these occasions, my brothers granted the soul karmic favors or special knowledge. For the most part they were happy, though I couldn't help but feel that they died with a sense of being incomplete. I pitied those who fell in this fashion. Far too many did over the eons.

The first time I fully stepped into Dean's life was in Oklahoma. I had observed him sitting at the bar for hours. With each round he became progressively more intoxicated and shamefully immoral as well. I did not believe he planned to exit the bar without a date or a fist to the face. Either way, my mission appeared no closer to completion. He was something of a Hell-raiser. I knew from my past experiences that there were few women who cared for such a trait and even fewer who would stay with him long enough to discover it. Dean would willingly jump into bed with a woman, but often left her without looking back. Generally this was before the sun had risen; a fact which made the sin easier for him to bear.

I came to notice that failure after failure had become tiring. Several months had passed without very promising results I was tempted to leave my mission. I became so despondent that I wondered if there was any chance that my brothers were wrong. That his soul was one destined to remain alone. It was then that he did something rather unexpected. He prayed…and I came down to listen.

"Dear…" He began, pausing to take another sip. It was clear that he had lost faith in more than one thing. "I could use a change. Hell, if anybody down here deserves that, I do."

I stood there in the room with him for several moments unsure of what action I should take. He desperately needed guidance and while I was sent to salvage what was left of his soul, to mend it in whatever way I could; revealing myself to him would make things increasingly difficult for both parties involved. The existence of angels was not a situation that was easily explained to or comprehended by humankind.

I watched curiously as he placed the empty shot glass back down on the table. He exhaled deeply and I thought for a moment that his soul had finally given in. Dean dropped himself onto the bed in irritation. Then he took another breath and, unaware though I was at the time, so did I. I turned my attention inwards once again. Was I truly ready to abandon a soul?

My determination, I suppose, would not allow me to give in. I might have been too indecisive and hesitant but eventually I came to a decision. Within a fraction of a second I had shed the subtle influence of suggestion which had kept me so well hidden for such a long time. The effect on the room and its occupant had been instant. The light from the bedside lamp cast what must have been one too many shadows because my charge was on alert before I was.

Within moments, Dean had moved from his seated position on the bed. As he turned to face me, green eyes wide with shock, he instinctively dove for the gun resting underneath the pillow. I must admit that at first I had been too nervous to react. I was only able to read his expression, a mixture of surprise and anger, before he pulled the trigger not once but twice.

In truth, I hadn't expected that his reaction to my presence would be so severe. And I wasn't ready to face a situation such as this. There was a short-lived moment of silence as I looked down to inspect the damage. While the wounds were survivable, even with my vessel's limited capabilities, they did sting. In a way that was impossible to ignore. When I finally had the strength to look over at him, Dean was staring right back at me. He was unsettled to put it mildly.

"What the hell are you?" The hunter had shouted at me.

I tilted my head in confusion and, with ears still ringing from the report of the shots; it became quite easy to remember what he did day-to-day. Suffice it to say that my next words had been chosen rather hastily.

"Divine Intervention." I told him, straightening my posture. My voice had been rough and underused; it was clear to me that he may have misunderstood. Diction had never been one of my strengths. "I am Castiel…a messenger of the Lord."

There was understanding in his eyes but his defensive stance remained. Dean lowered the gun just the slightest bit as he tried to clarify. "So what? You're supposed to be an angel?"

My gaze fell for a moment. The truth, much like a falsehood, was sometimes very difficult to present. My fall from higher Grace wasn't a memory that I cherished but I knew that he deserved the truth. His trust in me was something that could be built upon.

"After my demotion I was reassigned the rank of cherub. It's a distinction that can be difficult to make-"

Dean took this chance to interrupt. "No, I get it. I understand. You're a baby angel. Why are you even here, man? I mean, why creep up on dudes in a shady motel?"

"Dean, it's about your soul."

"I'm not quite ready to check out, thanks. Nobody's punching any tickets around here. Not today." I realized that the information may have been presented in the wrong way and I watched as he narrowed his eyes. "Jesus, you already knew my name…"

"I was assigned to you in order to repair your soul. My mission is to locate another soul which will share in your ordeals and successes. Over time I've become familiar with your life…which would include knowing your name."

"How much time are we talking about here? Days? Weeks?"

I paused, the exact length of time was quite simple to recall. Though I wasn't sure what term, if any, would make him happy to hear. "Months, five months. Nineteen days."

"Let me get this straight, pal." He shook his head to side to in disbelief, an action I'd seen countless times before. "You're some kind of wackadoo matchmaker sent from on high? Specifically to stalk _me_?"

"Your terms are crude," I heard footsteps just outside the motel door. "but I suppose that they are somewhat accurate."

As the door behind me closed, I turned just in time to watch Sam step into the room. He seemed apprehensive as he looked from Dean to me and back for an explanation, or an introduction. Though it was difficult for me to tell which, the gun in his hand suggested that the former was more likely. Dean nodded over to him, a signal that it was okay to lower his gun, before he did the same. They shared a glance in my direction.

"Dean?" Sam prompted him. "Care to explain the whole…?"

"Right, this is Castiel. My own, personal, Blue friggin' Fairy. And apparently, the dude's been Ray Carlton-ing us this whole time." When he caught the confused look on his brother's face, Dean took a rough breath. "The stalker. _He Knows When You're Alone_? …Forget it."

"I don't understand that reference." I admitted, hoping that the conversation would change its course. Sam had a pained expression on his face, still very unsure of the situation. Dean merely shrugged at me and shook his head again.

"Him, he's got an excuse. He's some kind of angel. And get this, Sammy, out of all the colors of crazy we've come across over the years; he's probably the one supernatural thing out there that isn't trying to kill us. Castiel here's been on the hunt for my soul mate. Or whatever chick flick crap it is that he believes in."

I gave a rumbling sigh. However advanced they became; humanity had never been one to grasp the more important facets of the soul. Over all of these thousands of years they dwelled on higher meaning, the closest they had come to understanding the concept had probably been uncovered during the filming of _Titanic_.

It was a film that became mandatory for all cherubs to view before their assignments, the reason why my older brother Balthazar came to hate it with such intensity. His brief sentence to the task of soul reparation, a punishment for flaunting the rules of Heaven and visiting the corners of the world indiscreetly, had really put him off the idea of love; and boats for that matter. I believe he had never truly appreciated the oceans from the Beginning.

"So you're Cupid?" Sam's voice called me out of my thoughts. He shrugged when Dean threw him a look. "How's that going, exactly?"

"The search became…" I stumbled over the correct words but they did come in time. "Frustrating. Your brother is obviously-"

"Superior? Unique? Devastatingly handsome?" Dean smirked over to us as he interrupted. He appeared to be oblivious to the worst of his character traits.

"Flawed." I paused, allowing the word time to sink in. "Immodest. Quick to judge. Entitled. His sense of balance alone…"

Dean raised his hands up in a defensive manner, another gesture that he had come to favor. "That. You see, that is harsh. You're not exactly the top of my to-do list either, pal."

Sam cleared his throat roughly and glanced away. I narrowed my eyes and followed his gaze with a tilt of my head. Nothing had appeared to change in that corner of the room. Was there something that I had missed? Dean nodded up to the ceiling and took a sharp breath. He was clearly frustrated with something.

"Look, Castiel." Dean stressed my name awkwardly. "Cas. I don't know where your orders are coming from but my soul is fine. And it has been for a long time, okay? It's nothing to worry about."

There was a pause as I considered his words. I reminded myself that the truth was something of the utmost importance. And, in this case above all others, it could become a matter of life or true death. Seeing his soul as shattered as it had become, was a painful event.

"Your soul has become damaged almost beyond repair." My words had been quick and the diagnosis was something that made their expressions fall.

"So what?" Dean, as always, suggested a quick fix. "Duct tape. I've heard it works wonders on stuff like that."

This was a solution that I was unaware of at the time, but when Sam shook his head I took it as a sign that his brother was being deceptive. I could not understand his disdain for the information. Perhaps it was this misunderstanding that led to the next.

"I was assigned to you." I said without pause, unfaltering in my mission. My voice broke. While my steadfast attitude would have been commendable in the eyes of the Garrison; it seemed to be unwarranted here. At this point in my life, I had never met a man so stubborn in accepting his current fate. What would become of him without me? Damnation? Possession?

"Well, I hate to break it to ya chuckles but you might wanna find an alternate form of employment." He looked to Sam for some input on the subject. "We're fine."

I left before anything else was said. The wind rushed around me and, within seconds, I was standing on the roof of a building adjacent to their motel. I moved forwards to get a better view of the street below. The ebb and flow of traffic had always been something that I found to be complex and thought provoking.

I considered Dean's words. They were damaging in ways that he couldn't possibly understand. After all, what use did an angel have if he could not protect those he had been pledged to? I imagined that we might prove to be somewhat proficient at baseball but other than that... I directed my thoughts back towards my mission.

I came to a very dark realization in that moment. The Winchesters had always thought themselves unworthy of rescue. No matter the situation, they had a habit of saving themselves. Or believing that they could. There was no way for them to understand the danger they faced if Dean was allowed to continue deteriorating in this way.

My assistance had been turned away by a drowning man; an unfortunate soul that I was committed to saving in one manner or another. The odds I faced were terrible but my resolve was greater. It didn't matter what he believed, a soul was always worth saving.


End file.
